


It glows with the sunset

by Elipson



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Beaches, Character Study, Crying, Day At The Beach, Gen, Light-Hearted, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elipson/pseuds/Elipson
Summary: "I've almost come full circle...the sun's about to set. I'm wasting my time."





	It glows with the sunset

The soft waves of a vast orange sea brushed against the golden sand, leaving tiny clouds of foam to bubble away. Up they came before retreating, again and again. The gentle back and forth between beach and water was accompanied by a relaxing breeze, rustling the palm trees. A golden aura threatened the blue sky as the sun disappeared slowly over the horizon. 

In this distant summer landscape, the girl, dressed in a simple one piece bathing suit, traced a familiar path along the beach. She paced in thought, making indents in the sand with her lance, the grains sinking between her toes. The green and red banners around the neck of her weapon swayed back and forth with her steps. She stopped now and then, sometimes to gaze at the untouchable horizon, and sometimes to poke a design or two in the sand. From a distance, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

But her expression said otherwise.

There was a dense patch of forest at the end of the beach. Most of the other servants who had rayshifted here had left with Master, collecting fruits and herbs for a campfire feast. When asked if she wanted to come, she’d bitten her lip and said no, asking for some time alone. Why she rejected such a wonderful offer was beyond her own knowledge. Master had looked concerned, but she’d insisted that she was fine. This was my dream. My wish, she’d told him. I just want to gaze at it a while longer.

It wasn’t a lie. She’d spoken from the bottom of her heart. Yet there was a loneliness there too that rung out with every sentence she spoke. She realized it this morning, and now it wouldn’t stop bugging her. She wanted to speak to her Master. Master was always there to talk to her. Master was the one who saved her, who grounded her in this world. But Master wouldn’t be back for a while.

She’d almost come full circle, back to where she’d started, to where the rayshift had taken them. This sea, in the middle of nowhere, was different from the one she had seen. It was one from a previous journey, one that took place before she came to be. It came up first with a story by Mashu at the dinner table, and since she’d brought it up it had never left her mind. It was why when Master offered to take his servants on a summer vacation, she’d been one of the first to sign her name down, intending to enjoy it in all its splendor with her friends. 

It was supposed to be a great day.

Why did it turn out like this?

A single speck of doubt, that took root faster than she could handle. And now she was alone, and all her friends were off having fun.

“Why did I come here today…” she muttered.

Some seconds later, she realized she’d been looking down the whole time. As her eyes perked up to make sure of her location, she saw a figure sitting by the beach, dressed in a two piece swimsuit. They were fiddling with something; on closer inspection, it seemed to be a board of some sort. Closer she got, and she made out a paintbrush, and a palette on her right side. Curious, she came even closer until she was staring over her shoulder. Her eyes glanced back and forth between the canvas and the horizon. 

Did she come here just to paint?

Maybe she’d spoken the thought a little too loud. When her eyes fell from the sunset to the canvas, they instead met with the artist’s, and the girl leapt back, startled.

“You didn’t go?” The artist asked her.

Fiddling with her lance, the girl swallowed, scrambling to recover her composure. The artist was not a Lancer; she was a completely different class that the girl hardly understood herself. A talented, yet bizarre, existence that had come to Chaldea on New Year’s Day. It was a little intimidating speaking with a Foreigner. She had to leave a good first impression. “I-I wanted to see the sunset.”

"Oh” came the underwhelming response. The artist returned to her work, shutting out the external distractions. Cautiously, curiously, eccentrically, the little Santa sat herself down beside the Foreigner, hugging her knees as the orange light swallowed up the blue sky.

They sat in silence. An invisible clock ticked on. Little Jeanne couldn’t help but feel as if she was wasting her opportunity. She rested her head on her knees, lazily watching the productivity of the artist.

“The sunset is that way.” The Foreigner’s brush pointed to the horizon.

Little Jeanne had no urge to respond. She kept staring; the feeling in her heart was starting to make it hurt.

The Foreigner looked her in the eye, looked down at her canvas, and looked her in the eye again. “Do you want to paint too?”

The temperament of a child surfaced, but Santa Alter remained without response.

“Are you feeling alright?”

She kept silent.

“For all intents and purposes, I don’t intend to pry too much.” The artist dabbled her paintbrush in an orange-yellow mixture. “It’s just that Abigail tends to use this trick a lot when something’s bothering her, but she wants you to ask. I’m gonna ask now so you don’t blame me later for being cold. Is something the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter.”

“Funny. Abigail says that too. Be a little bolder than her, it makes things easier. I’ll listen intently to what you have to say.”

“I’m fine.”

“Children often love to take this route.”

“I thought you weren’t going to pry.”

“And I won’t. Not if you don’t want me to.” And she went right back to painting. Little Jeanne was soon regretting not taking her offer. She spun her spear between the palms of her hands, wallowing in the empty feeling, before sticking the end of her weapon in the sand.

“You wanted to see the sea…” she buried her head in her knees and muttered. “Be happy that you got to see it again. Be happy that you’re here today.”

The words were simple enough. But that was just the problem. They were too simple.

Too simple for anyone to take her seriously.

She was Santa for a year. She tried her best, and failed, and failed, and failed, and only at the very end did she successfully accomplish her goal with quite a bit of help. What a journey it was, one she so desperately wanted to relive again. The overbearing feeling she felt when she heard the roar of the waves brought her to tears, and she knew from that point what it truly meant to be Santa.  
But Santa was Santa, and Christmas was one day a year. She was only ever meant to exist one day a year. The only thing tying her down was a love of the sea and a love for Christmas. What did those mean for the 364 days, when the trees and ornaments and lights weren’t meant to be up? What did that mean for a lousy existence like her? She didn’t belong anywhere in the books. She meant nothing outside of Chaldea. What good is an anomaly that has little to offer outside of a single role?

She wondered. She wondered and wondered and wondered, and the more she did, the more it hurt. She had buried her head in her knees, underneath her arms. Was it the sea, warm and salty, running down her face? Of course not. Even she wasn’t dumb enough to mistake something like that.

Quickly, she wiped them away, only raising her head once she was sure she looked alright. Anxious yet unwilling to move, she snuck glances at the artist’s canvas, watching an orange horizon take place in an unmistakable artstyle.

“It’s really good.” She commented.

"Try again after I finish.” The artist studied her canvas. “It’s not looking so good right now. I’m not very happy with this one.”

Santa studied the drawing, searching for a flaw. “Where did you go wrong?”

“Everywhere.” The artist scratched her head with the end of her paintbrush. “I’m rushing it. I’ll probably have to ask Master if I can come back here.” 

“The Master can only rayshift so many of us at once. There’s a reason he made us sign up on different days, with a limited number of spots per day.”

“Guess I’ll sneak my way in then.”

"I-is that alright?”

“For me.”

“But that would inconvenience Master.”

“Not by much.”

“H-how bold…” 

Silence came back for a second round. The artist was scratching her head frequently, looking at her canvas from odd angles. Little Jeanne drew patterns along the sand. Seagulls were flying in circles over the distant waters. Occasionally they would call out, and Jeanne would raise her head and watch them fly. The orange sea shimmered from the sunset rays, and the chaotic orange sky with its orange fluffy clouds was intimidating, but nonetheless a beautiful sight. She couldn’t stop staring now. She wanted to take in everything. She wanted it to last forever. 

It was such a simple thing, yet she couldn’t look away. The one thing she loved just as much as being Santa. Such a simple, childish dream…one not worth speaking of. One not worth living for.

The weight descended upon her shoulders…

…But was lifted when the silence was broken. 

“…I’m not doing this scenery any justice, am I?” 

Little Jeanne blanked at the artist’s muttering. “Oh, I…” A glance at the canvas. “No, no, of course you are!” said the girl who knew nothing of art. 

“Hmm?” Santa lily was meant with an odd expression. “The comment wasn’t meant for you.”

“Oh…” Her face felt a little hotter now. 

“You don’t have to mind me when I’m muttering. I mutter a lot when there’s distractions.”

"Distractions…? “I-I can leave then-”

“No, no, stop looking so flustered.” She gestured with her free hand to sit back down. “You’re here, so why leave? Distractions are distractions, but company is company, and I’m fine with company today. You aren’t the impertinent company my father can be sometimes, so you can stay.” 

“A-alright. I’ll stay then.”

“Unless you wanted to admire the sea from a different spot.”

“This spot is good.”

“Is it? Relish it, then. End the day on a good note, without any more crying.” How blunt. How embarrassing. Somewhere in her heart, she might have wanted someone to notice, but having that wish granted was a different matter altogether. Santa Jeanne froze like a block of ice. A billion unnecessary emotions came rushing to her head at once. 

Meanwhile, the artist only scoffed. “Don’t be surprised. I could hear you. You’re right next to me, so close I can sense you trembling. It’s hard to hide tears from this distance.”

“I…”

“Yes, you?”

“It’s nothing.” The girl cast her eyes. “Please forget what you heard. And saw.”

The Foreigner set her art to one side. A hand reached over and squished the young Jeanne’s cheeks. Hot steam rose to her face as a curious smile played across the artist’s lips. “You’re a cute little one, aren’t you?”

“Ngh! Pleash-”

“What a curious existence you are.” Jeanne’s face was tilted from side to side, up and down. The Master never did this to her…this girl was so rude. “Jeanne D’arc Alter Santa Lily, was it?” the Foreigner said, finally releasing her cheeks from her grasp. “Here I thought father and I being summoned as we are was strange. Just the length of your name is enough to boggle the mind.”

“It’s a little long. Just a little.” 

“You’ve bitten your tongue while saying it, haven’t you?”

“I-I have not!”

“The concept of lying goes right over your head.” The Foreigner gestured with her hand. 

“It’s like you were named after your resume.”

“You don’t have to say the whole thing. Just Santa is alright.”

“No one in their right mind would ask someone to call them Santa.”

“Except Santa!” protested the little Jeanne. “Santa is Santa! I love being Santa, so why can’t I be called Santa?”

“Because Santa is a title, not a name. I don’t wander the halls asking people to call me the takoyaki child.”

“Just Jeanne is fine then…Jeanne D’arc…Alter…Lily. Maybe Santa too.” The pause that followed drove further hot steam into her cheeks. “A-anyway, your name is quite difficult as well, so you shouldn’t be talking.”

“Hmm? You find Katsushika difficult?”

“I do, I do! Even your class name is a little…strange.”

A curious tilt of the head by the artist. “Hokusai is preferable anyways. Surely that’s manageable; it’s much less wordy than your name anyway. Or, if you really wanted to impress father, you could go with one of his nicknames. Of course, father went off somewhere to explore, and I’m not quite sure where he went, so you’ll have to wait when he gets back. Personally, I’d advise against it. It’s kind of embarrassing, really.”

“I wish I had problems like that to worry about. Your father is incredible.”

“Incredible, yes, yet also incredibly hard to deal with.” Hokusai rolled her eyes. “A strange man in life, even stranger as an octopus.”

“You’re incredible too. Both of you. What incredible artists you both are.”

“Careful now, little Santa. If Father catches word of this, he’s going to start drinking again and fantasizing about himself. While he’s not here, I’ll be the first to tell you: I think you’re neglecting some of our other faults.”

“But to have such a passionate interest, an innate talent, something to make you stand out the way you do…don’t you find that an incredible thing?”

“Not particularly. I’m not quite sure where you’re trying to go with this, little Santa. I enjoy my craft, that’s all there is to it. I don’t consider that incredible in any way.”

“That’s incredible in itself.”

Hokusai furrowed her eyebrows. “You’ve truly lost me at this point.”

“The freedom to be someone, to be yourself, at any time in the year…to draw what you want, whenever you want…to have something that drives you constantly that people won’t make fun of…to be relevant every day of the year…”

“It’s the freedom of being a servant. When Father and I aren’t assigned a task, who’s to stop us from doing as we please? Is it not the same for you? You have something you enjoy doing.”

“But I only did it once, and I did a terrible job. People know you as Katsushika Hokusai-”

“And they know you as the little Santa alter. What’s there to fault?”

“I shouldn’t exist. Someone like me has no relevance in Chaldea. I’m a pointless little burden who has no right to be a servant. The dozens and dozens of others that Master has summoned have a point to their lives. They exist in the throne of heroes because they belong. Their goals mean something. They have a role to play, and a life to relive. What drives me is a landscape and an ideal that comes once every year. What sort of a goal is that?” 

It all came out, unraveling in a second fit of tears. She balled her hands into fists, digging them into the sand. She didn’t want Hokusai to see her like this. What a terrible servant she was making herself up to be.  
It was like this from the very beginning, wasn’t it?

“I’m only Santa on Christmas.” She cried, and cried, and cried. Through the lenses of her sadness, all she could see was a blurry field of orange. “Santa is only relevant on Christmas, and even then my existence is a stretch. Who am I on the other 364 days?”

“Jeanne D’arc Alter Lily.”

Her confession came to a halt. The Foreigner’s words made her swallow her own.

“You’re overthinking this, little one. You’re contemplating a problem that should not exist. You’re asking a question with a simple answer. If Santa doesn’t exist for 364 days of the year, why do you? Because you’re Jeanne D’arc, an alter, a lily, a Lancer.” 

“But compared to you…”

“This is our first conversation since my summoning. We’re not the same person. We’re not the same class. I don’t even have class affinity against you. There’s nothing to compare.”

“There’s the nature of our existences…”

“Do all servants spend their time thinking about this? Does everyone sit in their rooms like philosophers, wondering why Master summoned them? Am I the only one not wasting my time?” Hokusai inched closer to the water, dipping her toes into the glowing waves. “I just want to draw, little Alter. I don’t care about my relevancy. If I’m here, I’m here, and I’ll use that time to do what I want.”

“But you stand for something much greater-”

“This was never a contest to be the greatest spirit, or to see who has the lousier spirit origin. I do me, and you do you. There’s no such thing as a lousy ideal: not if you believe in it. Besides,” she got up, stepped into the sea, and stretched. “No amount of drawing will make a Santa.”

The artist gestured for her to follow. Jeanne picked herself up, stepping into the sea. The water was gentle and cool around her ankles. “No one would appreciate an existence like Jeanne D’arc Alter Santa Lily…” Lingering thoughts made her cast her eyes.

“I know one person does.” Hokusai raised the little girl’s chin, bopping her on the nose. “Your Master.”

The little Jeanne loved the sea, and she loved being Santa. But that was not all, as this strange artist reminded her. “My beloved Reindeer…”

“He didn’t go through all that with you for nothing.” Hokusai let go, and made her way back to the beach, where she picked up her canvas and studied it. “You do you, little Alter. If you’re not Santa, you’re Jeanne. Your ideals are yours to believe in. Even if you have none, there’s joy to be had in living your life the way you want it.” 

The Foreigner dipped her paintbrush into the sea, the colours running into the water. Her long white hair swaying in the coastal breeze, Jeanne gazed out at the final golden rays of a setting sun. Holding her hands behind her back, she took in the final moments of the day, reliving a journey in her mind. It was the journey of an inexperienced Santa and her loyal reindeer, a journey of servant and Master. From the moment she came to be to the moment she failed to the moment where it all came to an end…she pictured it in her mind.

A lone seagull called out. A brilliant smile lit up the little Santa’s face.


End file.
